After the funeral, as I’m tidying your shed, I find a wooden box tucked away on a high shelf behind an entanglement of brooms, rakes and garden tools. Inside, you’ve nestled a glass jar of seeds in crumpled newspaper. What were you saving, Dad? Shall I plant them, and see?
Fiona H Evans eats alphabet soup and arranges words into stories. She lives on Noongar Boodja in Western Australia, in a cottage near a river where black swans swim.
nice
Thank you 😊
this is so heartfelt—it feels like the first few spreads of a very special picture book.
Thank you. Grief is a weird and wonderful thing.
What a wonderful and tender story! Accompanying a vivid and lovely bio. Many thanks.
I often wonder if anyone else except me reads bios. Thank you for reading, and for your kind words.
A lovely tribute – and your bio fits you perfectly!
Thank you, Wendy!
This is beautiful, Fiona. Especially poignant for me as my dad passed away earlier this month. Thank you.
I’m so sorry for your loss. My dad passed away 35 years ago, but I still miss him and treasure my memories of him.
Congratulations to you, Fiona. Your father is very likely beaming and very proud of you.
Oh this was a moving read! thanks for sharing your story